


Crisis

by KitKatIsSnatched



Category: The Crisis Series
Genre: Agender Character, Best Friends, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, F/M, Gay Panic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Other, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Roommates, Sexual Harassment, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 18:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitKatIsSnatched/pseuds/KitKatIsSnatched
Summary: All Jamie wants is to be featured in the art show in February. But to get there, a flurry of roommate drama, a party, and several convenient flashbacks must come first. An the art show certainly is not the end of our story. Get a glimpse into the mind of Jamie Ross. A depressed young adult struggling to pay rent, stay stable, and just live.





	Crisis

Rain. Always rain. Though the drizzling rain chills me to the bone, the atmosphere is hot and humid. I hurriedly unlock the door to my apartment, rush inside, and stand in front of the stairs, my hair dripping. I contemplate whether to go change clothes. While I think, I sit on the first step and wring my hair onto the bowing hardwood as well as take my jacket and shoes off. Deciding that I’ll dry off fine and peeling a wet strand of hair from my hand, I begin to drag myself towards the kitchen. _OW, what the f-_A sharp intake of breath and the pain in my foot would indicate that I stubbed my toe. _My umbrella! So that’s where that went. _I brush the umbrella aside and continue my laborious trek.

_ Just find something to eat._ The voice in my head is muffled by white noise. Home has never felt so cold. Probably because I live in Florida. I shuffle to the fridge and open the door. Lunchables, moldy fruit, apple juice, wine. . .. Lunchable. I grab a pizza Lunchable and fall ungracefully onto the couch. As I begin to feast on my five-star meal, I turn to the TV for a distraction. _Nothing good _I realize as I flip past the main news station for the third time. I pull back the curtain and inspect the gloomy weather I had been trapped in. The rain falls from the sky and the roof onto the ground and flows towards what I assume is the industrial drain a few blocks down. I feel useless and bored. Bored isn’t the right word, but I don’t know what is. _CREAK, SLAM._ “Welcome home,” I respond, without so much as a glance. I sound so enthused.

“Welcome home!” She mocks me as she takes her coat off and she slams the door. I feel the vibrations on the couch. “She” is Jane. My obnoxious, but well-meaning roommate. “Do you have any idea what this humidity does to my hair? I spent three hours on my hair this morning. Three _hours_!” She isn’t wet. Not a single drop of water has dared to touch her precious designer coat, and her pitch-black hair looks just as smooth and flat as it did this morning. She babbles about pointless things, mostly gossip, not even looking in my direction until she sits down on the couch. “And then she-” She pauses her mindless chatter and looks me over with a half-serious, but very judgmental look. “What’s up with you? You seem grumpier than usual.” Her observational skills are on fire today. I sigh and rub my face.

“Just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night and work was. . . well, work.” I work as a secretary for a trucking company based in this area. It isn’t as glamorous as I hoped my job would be after college, but hey, it pays my part of the bills. I finish my lunch and drop my trash on the floor by the couch. Not a very sanitary choice, but I don’t have enough energy or motivation to get up right now.

“Jamie,” She starts as she picks up the scraps from my hunt to throw them away. I’m not going to stop her. “You _have_ to start treating yourself better. Staying up past midnight to work on some dumb side project-” I choose to ignore that. “-isn’t going to get you anywhere. You’re going to feel worse in the morning and get half-assed work done. You’ll regret it and end up hating yourself and your project for it. Not to mention your performance at work. You have a life outside of that painting, remember?” She sits on the couch and looks at me with a condescending expression on her face. I don’t think she means to; it’s just how she looks at people. She also places her hand on my shoulder, but I flinch away from the contact. “It’s called ‘burnout’.” I obviously know what burnout is, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s right. I know she is. So, instead of informing her that I already know what burnout is and scaring away the only person who will listen to me, I sigh and put a low-effort smile on my face. 

“You’re right, J. I’ll try to do better.”

She looks content with my answer and leans back into the couch resuming her previous rant about some new girl at her company. (It isn’t her company, but she is a manager there. They make cheap children’s toys.) I can’t believe she bought my excuse. No, I take that back. I can. I sometimes hope that she cares more than she lets on. Not to say that she doesn’t care, she often cares too much, but she’s the only person I would ever let break down my walls. She’s the only real friend I’ve ever had.

I was never the social type as you may be able to tell. I never dared to make friends but was confused when I didn’t have any. In elementary school, I was labeled as a “troubled” kid. I was bored in my classes because they were too easy for me, and I often acted out because of it but I was mostly calmed down by 5th grade. Middle school was where everything changed. All the anger I had on the outside started to turn inward and I cried often about not being a happy kid anymore. That was when I learned to pretend. All I wanted was to be happy in life again, and that certainly wouldn’t get better anytime soon. Then came high school. Also known as the fiery pits of hell where Lucifer himself was birthed. I couldn’t get from point A to point B without having my books knocked out of my hands. I was mocked and insulted. Some gave me pity glances when I sat alone in the cafeteria, and a few kind souls even decided to sit with me. When I didn’t talk to them, they eventually left.

I was constantly taunted for how I dressed. I didn’t put in enough effort. How was I expected to get a boyfriend looking like that? Did I have a mirror and choose not to use it, or was I too poor? I never had any real friends. College finally arrived and I nearly jumped for joy as I packed. I left my discretionary childhood behind and looked ahead to the future. I knew college would be different, and different it was. The first day I run into a loud-mouthed, obnoxious, too cheerful girl that all but cut my head off my shoulders with her outrageous hand motions. She was speaking to someone on the phone, though I couldn’t tell what they were talking about as I was a bit busy getting my wits about me.

I already disliked her. She had no definition of personal space, and she wouldn’t know an inside voice if it screamed directly into her ear. I found out later that her name was Jane. I found out even later we were sharing a dorm. Yippee for me. Looking at her now I see how much has changed. And how much hasn’t. We were two dumb and disagreeable kids. I snap out of my convenient flashback only to see her staring into my soul with a crazed look on her face. I flinch and back up due to her proximity. “Can I... help you?” Her already concerning grin widens.

“You,” she points an accusatory finger in my face. “Are coming with me to Tami’s party tonight.” I freeze. Not this again. This is the fifth time _this month_ she has tried to get me out of the house.

“Jane, we’ve talked about this I do _not_ want to go party with you and your friends. I hate parties and crowds make me want to vomit. I’m clumsy, and I don’t want to worry about breaking something and getting you in hot water with your girlfriend. Not to mention that I have several yachts full of work to do tonight and I’m already behind, you know that!” I’m exasperated with her constant attempts. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, J, really I do, but I just can’t tonight.” She gives me a look only she can perfect. Somewhere between a deadpan and a disapproving mother. I call it the ‘I’m not having this BS today’ look. Truly a Jane Moore original.

“What did I just tell you?!” She lets out an embittered sigh and rolls her eyes. “You and I are going to a party tonight and there’s nothing you can do about it. I am so tired of you sitting in this sad little six walled prison all the time!”

“There are four walls to a room.” She ignores my comment and continues her soapbox presentation.

“I am taking my bestie out to have fun tonight!” I’m not getting out of it this time. I always knew one day she would drag me out, but today wasn’t supposed to be my day. It doesn’t matter now though. I can see the metaphorical fire blazing in her eyes, and I know that stubborn look all too well, unfortunately. I’m stuck. “Fine,” I finally mutter. “But if you get drunk and start hanging all over everyone, I am not saving your ass.” I resist cracking a smile. Her eyes glisten and she grins.

“Great! Let’s find you something to wear!”

She skips up the stairs to raid my closet for something she deems suitable. I survey the living…area. I refer to it as the living area because it is not a room. Our living space has a couch, and television, but the TV is on a stack of cardboard boxes, and the couch has a broken footrest on the right side. Our space doesn’t have any light source aside from the natural light through the window and a lamp we stole from the front desk of the university. By steal, I mean Jane shoved it in my bag and told me to hurry up and go. We still haven’t paid the electricity bill.

You could say our little apartment had an open floor plan, but that would be inaccurate. There is a bar separating the living area from the tile flooring with a stove on it. The tile flooring may sound like a kitchen, and we call it such, but it is not a kitchen. I think for a kitchen to be considered a kitchen, it needs a sink and cabinets, of which we have neither. We have the structure of a sink and the same of the cabinets. Well, the “sink” is a pile of pipes and some porcelain. The cabinets are there, but the shelves are sitting in the wrong direction. Parallel to the outer wood, that is, but I digress.

I survey the non-room living area. Despite the circumstances, I am decently pleased with our little apartment. It was better than the dorm we were staying in which wreaked of old, terrible quality beer. I stand up, but instead of being closer to the stairs as I had hoped, I was much closer to the floor. As I lay here, my mind is blank. I position my noodle arms like chicken wings by my sides and go through the motions of seal to child’s poses and end up sitting, very uncomfortably I might add, on my feet before I finally stand up. As I drag my feet across the fake hardwood floor, I try to remember why I and a spot before the stairs are wet. I peer up at the ominous staircase and grimace. _Tonight will not be easy_.

I climb the proverbial mountain of problems cascading through my subconscious, and the bowing floorboards of the stairs, caused by the leaky ceiling. I arrive before my door and hesitate. I can hear Jane talking to herself, comparing jewelry, and hues of clothing. I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth to ground myself at the moment and avoid the constant worry nagging me. _I can do this. It’s just a stupid party at her friend’s house. I can do this; I can do this. _As I give myself the worst pep talk of the century, I reach for the doorknob. I grab it and start to open the door. . .. _I can’t do this; I can’t do this; I can’t do this._ I rush back down the stairs, nearly experiencing cardiac arrest on my way due to my socks. I stop, as best I can, at the bottom of the death stairs, which hold a puddle from my hair earlier and now my socks are wet. I strip my socks off and wait for Jane to comment on my clumsiness and overall uselessness in functioning. Nothing. _She didn’t he- _

“I told you not to wear socks on the hardwood!” There it is. _It isn’t hardwood_. I feel the need to correct her. “Get your butt up here and try on these meticulously crafted outfits!” They can’t be that meticulously crafted; she hasn’t been up there fifteen minutes yet. I pull myself back up the danger-case and into my bedroom. My bed is covered in assorted items of clothing and my nightstand has piles of jewelry hanging off it. My closet has been stripped, save for a few band tees and some random merch. Three outfits are hanging up in my barren wasteland of a closet. All dresses. “Jane, I don’t wear dresses. It’s humid outside, so I’ll start chafing and then I’ll have a rash and be irritable- it’s a whole thing.” I ramble more than explain, but I think she gets the idea.

“Well, what do you suggest we do?” She places her hands on her hips and taps her foot impatiently. _She’s sick and tired of my complaining. Just wear the dress and shut up about it. It’s not like you have a choice in going._

“I’ll just wear a dress. Don’t worry about it.” I resign and walk towards the less audacious of the three options.

“No,” she retaliates, “You don’t want to wear the dress. I’m not going to force your hand on this.” She frustratedly throws her arms up and mocks me. Funny how she can do that without using my words against me.

“Just give me the dress, Jane.”

“No!” She yanks the dress out of my space so I can’t grab it. I reach around her to try and snatch the dress away. It doesn’t work.

“Yes!” As we fight verbally, we play keep-away with the dress. Right now she’s winning, but only because she’s taller than me. _I _hate_ this game._ I remember a day like this back in middle school. I was anxiously waiting in line to use the restroom when felt something get taken from me.

“Aw, look, flat chest finally hit puberty.”

She took my ticket to an embarrassment free day and was waving it in the air just above my head. Ironically, that ticket was currently the cause of my embarrassment, but I’m sure that was clear already.

“Kady, please don’t do this today,” I begged, hoping she would leave me alone. I knew that it wouldn’t work but you can’t blame a girl for trying. I jumped for it. Maybe I could’ve gotten it if I wasn’t 4’ 10 with Play-Doh noodles for arms. I was a late bloomer, all right, sue me. She merely laughed in my face, well above my face really. No one was looking at what was going on, but I knew they were all listening. Waiting to see what Kady would do but being distant enough to keep themselves out of her line of fire. I don’t blame them for not saying anything. I would’ve been just as scared if I were in their position. I heard an all too familiar sound and looked up, -I would regret that decision- as I had been quite interested in my shoes until that moment. I saw a white thing coming towards my face and then black. She stuck my pad to my face. I stood there, mortified, and frozen, considering what I had done to deserve this when I heard the shutter.

“I’m totally going to share this with everyone! You look so much better this way! Now I don’t have to see your weird lopsided eyes. Your lips are crusty though. I’ll come to see you tomorrow and we can fix that too!” She laughed to herself as she walked away. I still couldn’t see or move for that matter. I peeled the pad off my face and attempted to fold it back into the packaging she had thrown on the ground. It was good enough to stay sanitary, so I put it back between my binders and prayed for the day to be over.

Back with Jane, I have backed her into a corner on my bed. I stand there attempting to grab my dress. My dress which isn’t from my closet. I donated my dresses three years ago. _This isn’t my dress. How did I not notice that? _

“Jane? Whose dress is that?” I don’t let my guard down. While she’s distracted processing my question or thinking of how to avoid it, I’m not particular, I snatch the dress out of her hands, the coat hanger following. Something pointy jabs at my palm. Jane reaches around me to try to get it before I can inspect but I’ve already seen the plastic. _A price tag plastic. She just bought this dress, and I bet she bought the other ones too. Are these hers? When did she get these?_ I don’t ask any of these questions, but they appear in quick succession in my mind. I reiterate my previous query. “J, whose dress is this?”

“Uhm, It’s mine, of course. I couldn’t find anything appropriate in _your _closet.” The inflection of her words and her slight hesitation lead me to believe she is being dishonest. As she says that, the corners of her mouth twitch slightly, something that happens when she’s nervous. It happened when we were found stealing the lamp on the security camera footage from the university. For once in my life, I was glad I learned how to lie at an early age. I was able to get us out of that with some duct tape, a fishing pole, three cardboard cut-outs, and a lot of fast-talking. I think Jane might have slipped some Nyquil into his coffee, but I still credit myself with our escape. For a long while, after those events unfolded, I felt guilty for so easily and effectively lying to an officer, but I didn’t really have a choice. If we were caught stealing, we could’ve lost our scholarships. My family didn’t have enough money to send me to college without scholarships, and Jane’s family cut her off when they found out she was a lesbian. We were lucky that day. Though thanks to our negligence, and a few other instances like that one, I can easily tell when she’s feeling uneasy, or lying to me. Like right now.

“Your lip is twitching,” I inform her and she attempts to nonchalantly cover her mouth. She must be terrible at poker. I tell her as such. “Jane, you’re a miserable liar.” _Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?_ The voice in my head sneers, but I don’t have the time for it right now. “When did you buy these, and why? I know you don’t have enough money to be wasting it on party dresses.” By this point, she has given up chasing the dress, and my defensive pose and attitude have resolved back into one of exhaustion and concern. 

“To be honest, Jamie, I bought them for you. I just wanted to get you something nice whether you ended up coming to the party or not. I just assumed you would pick your favorite of the three and I would return the other two. I was planning to just let you believe it was one of mine that you hadn’t seen before and one day I was just gonna hang it in your closet and hope you didn’t ask. If you had I would’ve just played it off like I didn’t want it anymore. You just never seem to have nice clothes and I just felt bad.” _She bought them for you, and you interrogated her. Of course its all about you though. _You _had to have an answer. _I begin to crumble inside under the weight of my guilt. She wanted to do something nice for me and I was accusatory. The whole repetition of “just” thing is another tic of hers. It could be any word. I remember once the word was “because” and she kept spinning a more and more complicated lie and bouncing off on rabbit trails until she somehow came to the topic of why the sky was blue. But anyway, back to my crippling anxiety.

“Jane I- I’m-,” I cut myself off and decide to resolve my apparent distaste for dresses. “I’m not particularly fond of dresses. I prefer blazers and dress pants over dresses most of the time, but dresses are very flowy when it's hot, which is why you’ve seen me wear them before. Thank you so much for getting me these, but you do not need to buy me things.” I somewhat reluctantly take both of her hands in mine. Jane looks like she’s about to cry and have a sneaking suspicion I am at fault. “Hey, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll wear this dress tonight to the party.” Jane sniffs.

“I don’t want you to wear something you’re not comfortable with, but thanks for trying to make me feel better after that exhausting fight. Your noodle arms really put up a fight.” She laughs through her tears as she tries to lighten the mood. It works.

“Still friends?” I open my arms for a hug.

“Are you kidding me I couldn’t pay the rent without you.” I laugh as we hug it out. All’s well that ends well. Except. . .

“Well, what are you going to wear to the party?”

“I have a few ideas.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story, and I'm planning on making it a book. I'm constantly working on it, but I wanted some feed back. Thank you so much for reading! ❤️


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